


Choice Cuts

by DementedPixie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s12e03 The Foundry, Protective Dean Winchester, Team Free Will, Tortured Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:30:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9533816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DementedPixie/pseuds/DementedPixie





	

“Good afternoon, Mrs Winchester. May I take your coat?”

Mary Winchester hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she considered the question.

“I’m not wearing a coat.”

Castiel carried on regardless. “I have made you a cup of tea, if you would care to follow me?”

Still not sure what was going on but happy to play along, for now, Mary sat on the chair that Castiel led her to, briefly checking her reflection in the large gilt mirror on the wall before her.

“I had no idea this room was even here,” she said, taking in her surroundings.

“It seems the original Men of Letters intended for the bunker to have all necessary facilities.”

“Even a barber shop?”

“Apparently so, yes.” Castiel handed her the cup of fragrant tea and then paused, looking a little flustered. “I believe I am to ask you about your future vacation plans,” he said, looking to her for guidance. 

“I don’t really have any,” she replied, thoughtfully, taking a sip of her tea. 

“Oh.” Castiel gazed at her reflection in the glass, looking very much out of his depth. “I… I think I have forgotten something. My apologies.”

He scurried over to the door, looking very relieved to see Sam and Dean walking along the corridor towards him.

“All set?” asked Dean, rubbing his hands together.

“I forgot the clothing protector,” admitted Castiel, looking quite stricken. 

“It’s fine,” said Dean. “We’ll use a towel. We have towels?”

“Oh yes,” replied Castiel, with relief. “I have laid out a number of towels as requested.”

Sam glanced from one to the other with a look of amusement on his face. “You two enjoying yourselves?”

Dean grinned in reply. “Let’s do this.”

Mary put her cup down on the table, watching them closely as they walked towards her. 

“What's this all about, boys?”

Dean picked up a pair of scissors and stood behind her. “I’m going to cut your hair,” he explained, his grin just about as wide as it could go.

Mary ran her fingers through one side of her blond wavy hair. “I already cut it.”

“You did,” agreed Dean. “But it’s not straight.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Trust me. It will look better if you let me even it up.”

“Since when did you become a hairdresser?”

Dean glanced across at Sam and Castiel, who had moved to one side to watch the show. “Since I virtually brought Sam up. We’ve been cutting each other’s hair for years.” Dean brandished the scissors and moved in a little closer. “You gonna let me do this?”

Mary tried to stare him out, a difficult thing to do when neither of them were the type to back down. 

“If it makes you happy,” she said, finally, as she made herself comfortable in the chair and closed her eyes. 

With a level of expertise unexpected of a hunter of monsters Dean combed through his Mother’s hair, ran his fingers through the longest tresses to judge their length, and then started to trim the ends. 

It didn’t take him long, as he snipped at the curls and evened up the sides, and after a few minutes Mary opened her eyes again. “Done?”

Dean stood back and appraised the results. “Done.” 

Mother and son exchanged reflected smiles. 

“Okay,” said Dean, glancing sideways at his brother. “Your turn.”

“Excuse me? What?” said Sam. 

“I’m on a roll! Come on, you hippy, you need a tidy up.”

“Who says?” 

“I do. You know I’m right.”

Sam backed away as far as he could until the wall stopped him, his eyes wide and pleading. 

“N…no…” he stammered, “not right. No need. My… my hair is okay as it is, Dean.”

Dean put the scissors down and took a couple of steps towards the younger Winchester. “Sam,” he said, his voice soft, “it’s not okay. You’re not okay.”

“What?”

“Not since that bitch did what she did. You haven’t washed your hair in days, little brother.” Dean gestured towards Castiel who immediately took the hint, walking across to Mary and ushering her, respectfully, out of the room. 

Sam folded his arms across his chest and turned away, his head down. 

“I’ve washed,” he said, defensively. 

“Not in the shower,” said Dean, his voice still gentle as he moved in a little closer. “You can’t stand the feel of the water, can you? Let me help, Sammy.”

“Dean…” 

Neither man spoke for a few moments until eventually, as if accepting the inevitable, Sam looked up at his brother. 

“You’re not cutting my hair, Dean.”

“Sam…”

“No. I’ll let you wash it but I don’t want it cut. Not now. It’s… my decision,” he explained. “I want… I want to be in control. Of that. Of something”

Dean nodded his understanding. “Deal.”

Dean Winchester washed his brother’s hair that day, something he hadn’t done since they were kids. Sam reclined in the chair with his head resting back on the sink and allowed Dean to wet his hair with the spray. A little freaked out at first, he tried his best to focus on who it was doing this, that this was Dean shampooing and conditioning the long, tangled mop. Dean even treated him to a bit of a head massage, quietly murmuring as he did so that nobody would ever hurt his brother like that ever again, that Dean would rip them apart before he’d let them so much as touch him. Tangles finally gone, Dean wrapped Sam’s head in a towel and then led him over to the chair, turning on the hairdryer. Sam closed his eyes, leaning into Dean’s touch as the heat from the dryer gradually turned his mane into soft, manageable locks. 

Because whatever demons are out there, whoever is out to get them, they will always be there for each other to help pick up the pieces. The ex blood junky, the drop out with six bucks to his name, and Mr Comatose. 

Team free will forever.


End file.
